


Lost Voice

by Mikeyshotdogs



Series: Michael Clifford Imagines/Blurbs [56]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikeyshotdogs/pseuds/Mikeyshotdogs





	Lost Voice

You were laying on the sofa, wrapped in a big blanket. The entire house was freezing cold and you wanted to do nothing but lay there all day. But at you laid there, pondering what a warm sunny day would feel like right now, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. You turned to look up, and standing behind the couch was Michael. His nose was so red he could’ve led Santa’s sleigh, his nose was running so much - it should’ve been in a marathon, and on top of it all, he wasn’t complaining. Now, that may seem like a normal thing, but Michael always complained when he was sick. The fact that he hadn’t said a word could only mean one thing, he had lost his voice. 

You sat up and felt his compared his forehead to your own, “Michael you’re burning.” He rolled his eyes and put his hand to his throat. You took the opportunity to mess with him a bit, “what is it Lassie? Did Ashton fall in the well?” Michael stomped his foot and stared daggers at you. However, you were not done with your jokes yet. You giggled and said, “Did you sell your voice again so that you could have human legs? Michael, I told you not to trust Ursula anymore.” Michael tapped his foot in an agitated manner. You started to sing Part of Your World. He began to pout and drape himself over the couch. You patted his head and laughed, “okay, okay, I’m done, come on, let’s get you some throat spray.”

He shuffled his feet behind you and followed you to the kitchen. You pulled out a bottle of Chloraseptic and held it up to Michael. He opened his mouth and waited. As soon as the spray hit his mouth, he began to squirm and cringe. He was trying to make a whining noise, but he wasn’t able to. He went to grab the glass of juice on the counter but you smacked his hand. He stared at you with his tongue out and an expression that said, “WHY ARE YOU NOT HANDING ME THE JUICE, THIS IS MENTHOL FLAVORED HELL.” You glanced at your watch, “just another thirty seconds and then you can drink the juice, okay?” Michael kept sucking in air, hoping the taste of Chloraseptic would soon leave his mouth. While he was in the middle of big breath you shoved the juice at him and yelled, “GO GO GO!” He downed the juice and then grinned, you assumed it was because hr was probably glad his mouth didn’t taste like menthol and medicine anymore. 

You wrapped him up in your blanket and took him back to his room. He was trying to communicate with you with hand gestures, but it was clearly not working. Without explanation, you ran out of the room and made a mad dash to your closet. You scrounged through all your drawers and cabinets until you found what you needed. You jogged back over to Michael and handed him a whiteboard and marker. He quickly started writing. In hindsight though, you should’ve remembered that Michael has some terrible handwriting when he’s tired. And when he was sick, Michael was tired 24/7. You looked at him apologetically and said quietly, “babe...I can’t read your writing.” He sighed and threw his hands in the air, you could tell he was annoyed.

After twenty minutes of trying to figure out what he wanted to eat, you decided to just order him a pizza. After they delivered it, you took it over to Michael’s room. You handed him a slice and as soon as he took a bite he flopped back onto his bed in an exasperated fashion. You scrunched your nose, “you can’t taste it, can you?” He shook his head no and you decided it was time to pull out the big guns. You helped him out of bed and took his over to the bathroom. You handed him a Neti Pot and pulled out some salt. You put water and salt in the pot and then put water and salt in a glass. You looked at him and explained, “put the kettle to your nose over the sink and tip it, it’ll clear your nose and come out the other nostril. Once you do that, gargle the salt water in the glass.” Michael looked disgusted, but you assured him he’d be fine.”

As he saw the salt water going in and out of his nose, he looked astounded. When he stood back up, he sniffled a few times and then took a deep breath. You handed him the glass of salt water and he cringed. As he took a big mouthful, he began to gargle and try not to gag. When he finished he rinsed his mouth out again and then sat back down on the bed. You handed him green tea and he took a couple sips. 

After a few minutes of this, he cleared his throat and then tried to speak, it came out hoarsely at first, “hi y/n.” 

He cleared his throat again and tried again, it was a bit louder this time, “Hi y/n.” 

He took another sip of tea and then spoke clearly, “I feel better.” 

You smiled and felt his forehead, “yeah but your fever is still pretty bad, let’s get you some actual medicine.”

He grinned and nodded, “okay, right after dinner. Oh, and by the way, I am never sticking a kettle up my nose ever again.”

 


End file.
